Paint You Wings
by one hundred sleepless nights
Summary: I've fallen faster than ever, after. —Massie/Derrick
1. no place like home

**[Paint You Wings]**

The weather in Westchester at this time of the year was gorgeous. The trees were painted with bright greens and gardens were in full bloom, grasping onto the sunlight that came from the clear, blue sky. After a month of stifling humidity, the gentle breeze was a welcome sensation.

She stood in front of the mirror, in cherry-coloured, semi-sheer, lace panties and a matching bra. Humming under her breath, she twirled to her closet and selected a grey silk halter top. A gauzy scarf was wrapped around her slender neck and a wide array of bracelets and bangles were scooped onto her wrist. Massie then squirmed into a pair of white denim short shorts. As she swung her hips lazily to the song blaring out of her speakers, she struggled to step into a pair of wedges, then proceeded to scrutinize her reflection critically. Pursing her lips, she carelessly stabbed a pair of dangle earrings into her earlobes.

"_Massie, you're going to be late," _Kendra Block's rang out vaguely, carried from the main floor.

Rolling her eyes, Massie ran a brush through her hair, fixing the chestnut waves, and hurriedly grabbed a cardigan. A swipe of peach lipgloss was thrown into the mixture before she galloped down the stairs, leaving behind a cloud of perfume. A slam of a door resonated through the house, signalling her departure. Ducking into the expensive convertible gifted to her at 15, she felt a familiar nervousness in her gut, a tingling she hadn't felt since she had moved to England. Digging into her favourite slouchy hobo bag, she unearthed a pair of vintage oversized sunglasses. And slide them onto her face. Silently, she reminded herself she was Massie Block. And Massie Block did not get intimidated by anything or anyone.

It was a quick drive, too short for Massie who had been drifting in thoughts and memories. The sprawling fields and elaborate fountain was visible from the student parking lot as she carefully maneuvered her car between the flaming yellow lines. Taking deep breaths to steel her nerves, Massie smoothed down her clothes and shook out her hair, preparing herself for the inevitable. She slowly stepped out of her car and swivelled to face the sturdy pillars stretching towards the sky, framing the main entrance of the private school.

It was too late to turn back now.

—

There was still 15 minutes before classes started when Massie stumbled out of the office after registration. Students were scattered in clumps throughout the school. The sight was strangely familiar, yet foreign at the same time. Hesitantly, maybe even unconsciously, she glanced towards the gigantic oak tree, strategically placed in the view of everyone, surrounded by polished wooden benches. Four beautiful, obviously worshipped girls were perched on the benches, among breathtakingly attractive guys.

There was a curious pang in her chest as Massie gazed at her old friends, once branded together as the Pretty Committee. Uncertain of what to do, she plopped down beside the fountain and began to move her fingers along the screen of her iPhone as she stared at the group beneath the oak tree through her forelocks.

—

"Ohmygod," Alicia Rivera breathed.

"Is that—" Dylan Marvil squinted at the figure posed by the fountain.

"Massie?" Claire Lyon's voice was at an alarmingly high register.

"No way—"

"Yes, yes way!" Kristen Gregory chattered excitedly as the four best friends stared at the girl.

Looking at each other with shocked eyes and smiles so huge their cheeks hurt, they stood up in unison and strode across the lawn, as fast as possible, to their ex-alpha, their best friend, their missing piece.

—

"Shit," the brown-eyed boy muttered, dragging his fingers through his messy dirty blonde hair.

"Dude," Cameron Fisher started, not able to suppress a deep chuckle, "You're such a pussy."

"Dickhead. It's Massie, alright?" Derrick grimaced, slouching in his seat; his friends were complete assholes.

Kemp snorted, "You mean the girl you've been mooning over for the last God-knows-how-long years? Shouldn't you be happy she's back?"

"Shut up. It's just—it's weird," He grinned good-naturedly and tossed a bunched-up wrapper at Kemp with a simple flick of the wrist. Yet, he couldn't stop staring at the slim silhouette. She was enthralling; everything that shouldn't have worked together, did. "Hey—you guys think she has a boyfriend?"

His only answer was an eruption of guffaws. He allowed his face to contort into a frown for a fraction of a second before forcing a laugh.

_Please tell me this isn't happening._

—

It was only when a shadow fell on her did Massie look up, annoyed. "Um, excuse me? You're blocking the—"

Her words were cut off abruptly when she registered the four girls facing her. She stood up steadily, sweeping her hair off her face, and tucked her phone into her bag, "Hey."

Almost instantaneously, she was enveloped by a tangle of arms and ambushed by a flurry of fragrances and voices.

"I can't believe—"

"Guess wha—"

"How long are—"

"You look—"

It was nearly impossible to suppress the squeal building up inside of her, but in true alpha fashion, Massie swallowed it down and composed herself, retaining her collected demeanor.

They broke apart, falling into step with each other, side-by-side, arms intertwined. The red-head, the Spaniard, and the two blondes speedily talked, fighting to spill all the most alarming gossip first. Massie only half-heartedly listened to their overlapping words as happiness expanding inside of her like a balloon.

_Screw it_, Massie thought and let a delighted giggle escape her lips. It didn't matter that her hair was probably ruined and her makeup might have been smeared and that they looked absurd to other students, because she was back. She was _back_ and these were her girls and Westchester better brace itself.

And so she just let herself enjoy it; the feeling of sun on her face, the slightly sweaty arms wrapped around her, the smile that couldn't stop widening on her face, _the moment._ She had missed this. KISS had been amazing, but nothing—_nothing_—could replace the Pretty Committee and Briarwood.

It was good to be back.

* * *

Yea, I don't actually know what this is; it just kind of...started, I guess. Ugh. I dunno.

Review?


	2. hold on tight

**[2]**

"So," Dylan wiggled her eyes suggestively at the brunette sitting across from her. "How's James? You never shut up about him every time we Skype."

Alicia snorted, "Seriously. It'd be annoying if it wasn't so sweet."

Massie laughed softly, a barely-there smile on her face, "James…We broke up."

There was silence in the room as the other girls attempted to digest the piece of vital information just thrown at them.

"But—But you were like, the perfect couple!" Claire argued obnoxiously.

"Mhm! Why'd you break up?" Kristen agreed.

"Mm," Massie shrugged one shoulder ambiguously. "You know. The whole long distance thing, I guess. And—" She broke off abruptly, voice cracking, a pained look in her eyes. She cleared her throat nosily, "So. Are any of you old Briarwood couples still together?"

"Me and Cam are still together," Claire beamed, a dreamy look overcoming her face.

Kristen shook her head, her hair fanning out around her shoulders, "Nope. I'm single and happy that way."

"Well, I'm still with Josh. A few break-ups here and there, but…"Alicia trailed off, leaving them with a grin.

"Derrick and I broke up a long time ago. Just a few weeks after you left," Dylan contributed to the conversation.

The whole room fidgeted, reminiscing, until Kristen nodded her head decisively, with an overly exuberant but genuine smile on her face, "This whole conversation is way too depressing." She swivelled to face Massie, "I mean, you're back in Westchester, and hell yea, we're gonna celebrate."

Alicia skipped up from her perch purposefully and blasted music. Sashaying over to Massie's extensive closet she pulled out a red bodycon minidress, "Ooh, I like this. Get ready, bitches. We're going dancing."

Massie sighed in faux-exasperation, but giggled nonetheless, "Fine." Standing up, she pivoted so she was directly between Dylan and Claire. Extending one hand to each, she yanked them upwards and smirked deviously, "Let's do this."

—

Derrick made his way to the bar, where Massie sat, entertaining a martini. Her legs were crossed primly, exposed by the miniskirt she wore and the heels she sported accentuated her slim legs. Derrick's breath caught in his throat. She looked gorgeous, with her hair sleeked back into a perfect ponytail and glitter on her eyelids. She seemed to be deep in thought, chewing on her lip and twirling a strand of hair around a finger.

Without looking, he flagged over the bartender and settled onto the stool adjacent to hers, "Jack and coke."

They didn't talk for a long while, just sat there and stared at the flashing lights hovering over the mass of writhing bodies. Finally, she opened her mouth, "Derrick." He had grown up; his shoulders were broad and there was a layer of defined muscle that skimmed his body. Massie had to admit, he was nice to look at.

A corner of his mouth flipped upwards, "Block. Hey."

Hastily, without thinking, Massie blurted out, "I'm sorry."

Taken aback, Derrick could do nothing but gape at her, mouth wide open, eyes disbelieving, "What?"

"I—I'm sorry. I was such a bitch in middle school and I'm just—I'm sorry."

"Block…Are you drunk?"

Massie huffed indignantly, "What? No!" She paused, then admitted bashfully, "'Kay, well, maybe a little?"

He laughed, draping an arm around her shoulders, "Chill. Like you said, that was middle school. It's different now."

"Yea," her unease at his contact was so obvious it was nearly tangible. Still, she restrained herself from voicing her thoughts, but Derrick, noticing the way the impact of his arm affected her, swiftly retracted it.

Derrick studied her, "You've changed."

The amber-eyed girl didn't even flinch as her pink-painted lips parted and she released a throaty chuckle, "We all have, Derrick."

"I guess," he alternated between sipping his drink and picking at his fingernails, unsure of what to say next. The evident pause was thankfully shattered by Alicia and Josh, who had swung down to the bar for a break.

"H'y, howzit go'ng?" Alicia slurred incoherently. She hooked each arm around Massie's and Derrick's necks and pulled them together. "Yuh guys are so borin'. M'ke out alrea'y. L'ke ohm'gud. Sur'sly."

"Leesh!" Massie snapped, avoiding eye contact with Derrick, who gazed at her, amused. He nearly smiled at the powder pink blush that threatened to spread across her cheeks.

Josh sniggered, "C'mon, Leesh. We're gonna have to cut you off." He tugged on her hand, leading her to the dance floor, and soon disappeared into the crowd.

"So," Massie started, cheeks burning, eyes glued ahead.

"…So?" he echoed.

"Shots?"

—

She tipped her head and drained the clear liquid. Wiping her mouth brazenly with her forearm, she looked at Derrick through slit-eyes, "'Un m're."

He shook his head quietly, considerably less inebriated than she was, "That's enough."

She scoffed, then hopped off the stool, pasting a bright smile onto her face. "Dance?" she offered.

"Nah. You go ahead though," Derrick leaned against the counter as he watched her zigzag to the center of a huddle of guys. She grinded her hips against them provocatively, arms up, head thrown back in a laugh. They responded eagerly, skimming their hands along her sides, grabbing at her waist and watching her appreciatively.

He gritted his teeth, hands clenched into fists, but made no move to drag her away. It was his own fault for denying her proposal to dance, after all. Elbows resting on the counter, he scrubbed his fingertips against his temples. Derrick could feel a headache coming on. Groaning deeply and pinching the bridge of his nose, he flicked his eyes to the dancefloor, searching for Massie. There was no visible indication of her, however; no glowing eyes or shimmering dress. Derrick fought the worry pulsating inside of him. She could take care of herself—_right_?

—

Derrick shifted uncomfortably. Massie had been gone far too long. With his eyes set in determination, he ducked through the crowd speedily.

Finally, he found her, near the back of the club, cornered by a stocky, pompous looking asshole. He had a knee wedged between her legs and a meaty hand tangled in her hair. The other was flattened against her lips, muffling the desperate pleas. Massie squirmed frantically, but he only pressed her tighter against the wall. Her eyes were puffy with tears and a bruise. The stranger began to edge his fingers beneath the fabric of her shirt. When he hiked her skirt up and slid his hands underneath; when he backhanded her roughly across the face, Derrick's poorly suppressed rage exploded and he saw red.

—

Massie bolted upwards, breathing ragged and her eyes dripping with tears. Her whole body felt sore and her stiff, shaky fingers grasping at the bed-sheets. There was an unbearable ringing in her ears, a spinning in her head.

It was dark, in the room, illuminated only by the pale of halo of light from a far-away incandescent light-bulb.

"Where am I?" she croaked, hoarsely.

"Massie, relax," A baritone voice sounded to her right, in startlingly close proximity.

"Where am I?" The sound that came from her mouth was hysterical and panicky, with a wild, animalistic petrification imbedded within it.

"Massie!" Derrick's face slid into her peripheral, and she could feel the tension in her fade marginally.

"D—Derrick?" She inhaled. "Ohmygod, what happened to you?"

There was a smear of red swiped across his cheekbone, coupled with a throbbing bruise that marred his jaw. His knuckles were scraped and raw. A wry smile ghosted his lips, "You should've seen the other guy."

Derrick advanced towards her. She impulsively cowered, and it was almost painful to see Massie Block so pathetic. Ignoring her wince, he plopped down beside her and folded her into his hard chest. A hiccup sounded involuntarily, before a torrent of sobs burst out.

"I couldn't—He just—Why did he—" Undecipherable fragments came from her mouth.

It was terrifying, the way she was so wrecked, so different from her usual, glossy self. So he just held her tighter, squeezing his eyes shut, and tried to drown out the sound of her cries.

—

"Here," Derrick murmured, holding out a fistful of various articles of clothing. "You can stay here tonight. Take a shower if you want. Alicia said she'd tell your mom you slept over at her place."

Massie nodded silently, grateful, making her way to the bathroom. She had fully intended to avoid showering, but there was a chill in her that couldn't be eliminated, and the call of a hot shower was too tempting. She cranked the temperature to scalding and let steam roll off in clouds until the mirror fogged over. It felt like a dream, hypnosis, the way she sluggishly raised her palm up and pushed it against the surface, wiping out her face. It seemed so distant, undistinguishable, detached, like it wasn't her own hand she was watching. Her lips curled inwards as she drew an "X" across the mirror and sealed her eyes, drained and dizzy and uncertain.

The steady beating of water droplets against shower base snapped Massie out of her light-headed state. Shaking her head once, twice, at herself, she stepped into the shower, savouring the way it pounded on her, loosening her aching muscles and washing away the day's events. She scrubbed at herself furiously until her skin turned red, as if to erase the touches that tainted her sense of control. It wasn't until her skin burned—from her fingernails or the heat, she wasn't sure—that she tiptoed out and wrapped a navy-blue towel around her frame. Massie paused as she faced the mirror, watching her reflection obscured by condensation once again. She struggled to lift the tips of her mouth upwards into something that scarcely resembled a smile; it was more of an unstable grimace. She tried again. This time, her lips bent into a small but definite smile, her cheeks straining from the effort.

Rotating around, Massie twisted her hair into a knot on the top of her head. She yanked on the plaid boxers Derrick had given her. They felt clean and cool against her legs, and the crispness of them was almost soothing. The t-shirt that he had let her borrow was soft and well worn. There was something comforting about the smell of fabric softener and grass, Massie mused. It reminded her of mothers who cared and childhood and playgrounds. Times before drama, envy and gossip tarnished judgements and reputations; a time when nobody cared about how you dressed, spoke or acted—When everything used to be easier.

She nudged the door open and peeked out, vapour billowing out after her. Derrick strode into the room, carrying two ceramic mugs. "Here," he said shortly, placing one in her hand.

"What is it?" Massie inquired curiously.

Derricks cheeks were tinged pink and he looked downwards, scratching the back of his neck shyly, "It's tea. I thought it might help."

"That's sweet, Derrick." She took a sip of the warm liquid and relished in the way it flowed down her throat. She hadn't realized how parched she had been until now.

A lop-sided smile, the one that Massie loved, arched on Derrick's face, "No problem." It was a relief to see her begin to return to her previous self so soon. He cleared his throat, if only to occupy the awkward silence that followed their interaction. "So, um, you can have the guestroom."

A look of momentary panic flitted across her face, "I don't—I don't know, I just don't really want to be alone."

Derrick stopped, brow furrowed, "Massie—what's up with you? I know you've changed and what happened tonight, that sucked, but you're acting really, really weird."

She went rigid, shoulders taut. Her lips tightened in a straight line, "You know what? Never mind."

"Massie, I didn't—"

"No," she bit out, forcefully. "I'll be fine. I don't need you, Derrick. I never did."

"Stop overreacting—"

"Don't," she hissed, venomously. "Don't act like you know me, like you know how I feel. You have no idea."

"I'm sorry, Massie, but…" he shifted from leg to leg.

"Don't. Leave me alone, Derrick," Massie emphasized her words, throwing in a look that dealt damage physical actions would never be able to match. With that, she whirled around, stomping out of his room, leaving Derrick staring at the door, confused and wounded, and most of all, yearning to run after her.

* * *

I am officially full of suck. But OMG, I dunno, I'm just not that good at this style of writing. Or I don't prefer it, or whatever.

ANYWAYS. Sorry for taking so long to update, and review!


	3. what will save us

**[3]**

It was Monday, again.

Derrick observed Massie as she proudly strolled into the courtyard. She looked flawless with a floral dress, high heeled boots and professionally applied makeup.

He was always the one who could see right through her impenetrable façades.

Derrick's eyes locked onto the faint shadows beneath her eyes, from lack of sleep, no doubt. When she caught sight of him, her step faltered. Something unreadable flickered through her eyes and Derrick could feel his stomach tightening.

He swallowed, once, twice, and began to approach her. He could see her shoulders stiffening at his stealthy footsteps and her abrupt hastiness, but he still managed to overtake her with no difficulty. With a confidence he wasn't aware he had, Derrick straightened his back, looming over her. "Massie," he growled, quietly. "We need to talk."

Massie suppressed a flinch and stared directly ahead, blatantly avoiding eye contact. "What is there to talk about," it was definitely not a question, Derrick figured, and barely a statement; merely something to deny and delay the inevitable.

He continued to stride towards her, although the first bell had begun to ring, as she stumbled backwards, nearly colliding into a wall. Eyes narrowed, Massie scanned around frantically. Her entire body seemed to slump in defeat as she realized there was no escape; she was trapped.

Derrick raised a dark eyebrow at her, scrutinizing her face for any signs of weakness. "What is there to talk about?" he reiterated, with a dark amusement in his voice. "Friday night. Us."

Massie swivelled her head to the side. Although her murmur was quiet, Derrick could hear a distinct quiver to it, "There _is_ no us. And Friday…I was just-I was just PMS-ing, okay? Besides, it's none of your business."

He studied her for a while, and pressed his lips together tightly, "No. You're lying." He grasped her arms tightly and frowned. He could feel her perspiration dampen his palms; she was sweating an obscene amount for a simple confrontation. Massie seemed to be shaking furiously, recoiling from his touch, her eyes wide and scared.

"Mass? What's wrong?"

"Don't-Don't touch me!" She stammered and bit on her palm, suppressing a shriek or cry or maybe both.

"Shitshitshit," Derrick hissed in frustration, flailing his hands uselessly in the air as he panicked. "Shit, I just-I'm sorry!"

The few students still trickling into the academy from the courtyard began to turn their attention towards the commotion, bewildered, so Derrick herded Massie to a far more secluded area. There, he sat her down, and she tilted her head back to rest against the wall, attempting to regain her composure.

"Mass," Derrick whispered carefully. "What happened?"

Her eyes were squeezed shut, chestnut eyelashes casting shadows against her cheekbones. Massie remained utterly still, only moving her mouth as she spoke, "Why do you care?"

Derrick considered her words, tongue darting over his lips, "I've always cared."

It was then that Massie broke down again, albeit more contained. Her resolve dissolved, she started to talk, "I-I met him on the plane."

"Met who?" The blonde haired boy interrupted.

She dug her fingernails into her palms, "I met him on the plane. James. He was so charming and so friendly and I just-I just fell for him."

Derrick's heart contracted abruptly; it was painful to hear Massie talk about another guy like that.

Massie let out a watery hiccup and blubbered on, "It was great at first, y'know? And I'm just a fucking cliché but he-he was such a gentleman and everybody loved him: my parents, my friends. I thought it'd be great and then one day he just-he just—"

His movements stilled as he held his breath, fighting to control his emotions as he understood her choppy explanation. Derrick's blood froze inside his veins and there was a strange, overwhelming sensation that washed over him; hot-cold-hot-cold-hot-cold. She had been abused. Derrick didn't know if it was physical, mental or sexual; he didn't know if it was once or multiple times, but he know that she would never be completely the same, ever again. He snarled, low and dangerous, "That fucking piece of shit."

"T-That's why I came back. To Westchester. I didn't know what else to do," She paused. "It's over now. Everything's over. B-But I don't know anymore, Derrick. It was all my fault; I was too naïve and stupid, and I deserved it, but he kept apologizing and say he _loved_ me and I-I guess I just wanted to believe everything would be okay again. Fuck, I don't know what to think anymore." Massie shut her eyes again, then. "It wasn't my fault. It wasn't my fault," she nodded to herself, as if she was trying to convince herself that her statement was true.

Derrick shuffled forwards. "Stupid," he grunted, gruffly, brushing a strand of disheveled hair from Massie's tearstained face. "It wasn't. It _wasn't_."

She forced herself not to duck from his hand. Instead, she focused on the warmth of his calloused skin and voice and the rhythmic pulse of his breathing.

Massie liked to believe everything would be alright.

—

By lunchtime, everything seemed bizarrely normal again. It was as if the events of the morning had never ensued. However, Massie seemed to be intentionally avoiding Derrick. He felt a curious urge to talk to her, but caught himself. Derrick silently reprimanded himself for his actions. _Stupid_, he chastised, _You can't just do shit like that. She's not your girlfriend or anything._

"Dude," Cam clicked his tongue, disapprovingly. "You're so fucking whipped."

Derrick narrowed his eyes at the black haired boy, "As if you're not?"

"It's different, though," Josh butted in, a smug smile growing on his face as he twisted the cap off his pop. "Cam admits it, and we all know it. You on the other hand…"

"You guys are idiots," Chris' eyes widened in disbelief. "Is this the same Massie Block we're talking about? Yea, she's hot, but she's a huge-ass bitch. Or at least she was."

"That's the thing," Kemp began with a shit-eating grin. "It doesn't matter if she's a bitch, I'd hit that anytime."

Cam elbowed him, a look of equal parts disgust and hilarity on his face, "Not all of us are looking for just hookups, y'know? Fucking horndog."

"Shit, guys, shut your mouths before I do it for you," Derrick shook his head and inhaled, his shaggy locks fanning out around his face. "She's different, alright? I can't explain it; she's just…not the same."

Josh stared at him for a second, before sniggering hysterically, "Whoa there, D, don't turn into a girl on us, yea?"

"Nah, man," Kemp drawled, picking nonchalantly at the cheese fries sitting in front of him. "He already is one. Didn't he tell you?"

Chris gasped mockingly, "You bastard. How could you."

Cam sat up and pasted a wounded look on his face, "I thought you loved me! What kind of relationship do we have if we don't have trust? Next thing I know, you'll-you'll be cheating on me with her." He pointed a finger accusingly at Massie, who was approaching the lunch table surrounded by her friends.

"If only," Josh sighed dramatically.

"He wishes," Chris piped in, after swallowing a bite of his pizza.

"No," Derrick, who had remained silent, said, uncharacteristically harsh. "I don't think she wants anything to do with me. She's not ready and shit."

Yet, he couldn't stop a seed of hope from sprouting within him.

—

"Have you seen the autumn line from Alexander McQueen? It's gorgeous," Dylan commented carelessly.

It was comforting how her friends managed to race through topics so quickly, Massie found. The conversation carved its own trail, and there were never awkward pauses.

"Hey," Alicia fell into step with Massie. "Are you okay?"

Massie glanced at Alicia briefly, "Yea. Why wouldn't I be?"

"It's just…" the Spaniard hesitated. "You seem really stressed. And you kind of tense up whenever Derrick is mentioned. Did something happen?"

"No," Massie forced a smile. "Not really."

"Oh," Alicia fell quiet. "Okay."

One of the things Massie loved about her friends was that they knew when to stop pushing her about more serious matters. The girls would allow her to confess what had occurred when she was comfortable.

"Maybe its sexual tension," Claire remarked lightly.

Massie rolled her eyes, "Yea righ—" She paused, puzzled, when she caught a glimpse of familiar inky black curls. "Is that Landon? Landon Crane?"

Kristen nodded without looking, "Wow, changing the subject much? But yea. He transferred to Briarwood during our freshman year. He kind runs in the same circle as us, so we hang out, sometimes."

"He's usually with his senior friends though, not us lowly juniors," Dylan contributed with a giggle.

"Why, Mass?" Alicia hummed. "Do you still have a thing for him after like, three years?"

"No!" Massie responded. "I was just…curious."

"We-e-ell," Claire tittered. "He's heading our way, so prepare yourself."

"Massie?" Landon ambled in front of her. "I see you're back from England," he noted.

"Yea. So, how's senior year?"

"It's cool. Busy. You look really great, Mass," Landon scanned her slowly, almost intimately, a faint smirk on his handsome face.

"Thanks. Right back at you," Massie twirled a lock of hair around her pointer finger, taking a step back.

"I gotta go. See you around?" Landon questioned.

"Yea, I guess," she couldn't stop the dainty flush that spread across his cheeks as she watched Landon wander away.

"So. You _do_ still have a thing for him," Dylan broke the silence.

"What?" Massie spun around, chin tilted haughtily upwards. "No! He's just—"

"Really fine?" Alicia purred. "We know. If he didn't have a thing for you, I'd totally jump him."

"Leesh, you're such a whore," Massie laughed at her best friend's antics. She had missed hanging out with the four girls. Yes, she had her own group of tight-knit friends in England, but it was never the same; all the inside jokes she'd never be part of, all the American customs they'd never understand.

"You know you love it, bitch," Alicia countered.

"Whatever puts you to sleep at night," Kristen interjected, winking at her playfully.

They reached their lunch table and Massie plopped down beside Claire with a tray of sushi and a Coke Zero, making sure not to sit near Derrick.

She knew _he_ would never forget what she'd told him, but _she_ could damn well try to.

—

Derrick peeked at Massie through his forelocks periodically. She was busying herself with her food, which appeared fascinating to her, entrenched in the task. She was quite obviously, ignoring him, and frustrated, he stood up. "I'm going to the fitness centre," he muttered to Cam. "Don't wait up." He had spares for the next few periods, and he couldn't stand to be around Massie any longer.

It was times like this he was reminded of Sammi, and nothing would ever be enough to take it away.

Soccer practice started next week and Derrick was looking forwards to it, possibly too much. It provided him the thrill of competition, something to concentrate on besides Sammi, besides Massie, now.

He slid 230 pounds onto the bench-press bar, 115 on each side and laid back on the bench. He knew it was stupid and dangerous to bench without a spotter, extremely so, but he could barely care at this point. Derrick pushed his arms upwards, almost mechanically, relishing the burn of his muscles.

Derrick was used to the strain on his muscles, his body. He followed a strict workout regime, even when it was the off season. He did not wait for the team to begin training, because he trained himself.

With Sammi (deaddeaddead) gone, all the pressure had been put on him and failure was not an option. His entire family had gone to shit without Sammi. It disgusted him, the way his parents barely cared about their precious daughter, only favouring her successes and achievements, parading her around like a fucking show pony.

They didn't even care—they didn't even care that she was fucking gone, that she was fucking dead.

He didn't know what, who, he trained for anymore, though. It was a pretty, little story: that he worked hard as hell for his family, but he couldn't give two shits about what they thought of him, of what the whole goddamn Westchester society thought of him.

There was a throb of anger and hate inside of him for all his enemies as he flitted through the different weight machines. He wasn't sure who they were anymore. By the time Derrick was 2 hours into his workout, there was a bitterness brewing inside of him, in his gut and his chest, and all he wanted, _needed_, was a physical outlet for all his aggression.

Breathing heavily, from fury or his workout or maybe both, Derrick wiped his sweat from the weight machine and stalked towards the punching bag, driving his fists into it. He rained a volley of punches upon it until his knuckles were sore and bloody, ignoring the stitch crawling up his side, his sore muscles and the sweat drenching his skin.

He punched it, again and again and again, and still, it wasn't enough.

* * *

yea, it's been forever, but oh well. sorry 'bout that.

and this is a massington story so it'll mainly focus on massie/derrick, rather than drama with the entire group and stuff.

review!


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